Junky
by whisperinglately
Summary: 10 years after That Was Then, This is Now. It's a long night for Steve of the Outsiders and Bryon, and the years haven't been good to them, from all the screw-ups. If something doesn't happen soon, they might end up as bad as Mark.


Steve thought that you never get too old for this. He rode around in the passenger side of Bryon's old car, looking for anything to distract him from thinking. After nabbing a night in the drunk-tank and a DWI charge, he needed someone else to drive him around while he finished off a half-empty beer in one hand and reached for the one in the cup-holder with the other hand. Bryon wasn't good for anything else really; they were two outcasts, hanging around each other for lack of company. Steve thought Bryon was a snitch and a chump, but Bryon didn't ask questions and he kept the wheel straight.

_Darry tried to put his hands on Steve's shoulders, tried to keep his voice from rising even though Steve had just thrown the trash can across the kitchen. Darry stepped over the shards of Coca-Cola bottles and ignored the slime of month-old frosting and crumbs pasted on the wall. "Steve, listen to me, you have to stop. You have to realize what you've been doing. It's called the circle-of-violence. When you were a kid…" Steve had pushed Darry's hands off him and leaned in towards Darry's face._

"_Fuck you with your bullshit. A couple of psychology classes in college and you think you're the big shit now, huh? That I'm gonna let you judge me?" Steve's [eye color] eyes narrowed, and his upper lip, topped with a beer froth mustache, curled into a smirk. I bet you'd hit me right now if you thought you could get away with it. I'm pissing you off aren't I? Aren't I?"_

_Darry shook his head, eyeing the clock on the wall. He had to get up at six to take his son to day-care. Hopefully the kid had slept through all this. "You need to leave, Steve. You're not welcome over here anymore, not while you're acting like this." Steve let out a laugh, walked right past Darry and pulled a six pack out of the fridge before throwing open the front door and climbing into his truck. Wasn't an hour later before he nearly hit a telephone pole and got pulled over._

Steve flipped on the radio, a decent FM player he had installed for Bryon and the only new thing about the car. Bryon was always taking it into Steve's shop to work on something, but Steve admired the body of it. He should just leave it alone, Steve thought. He refrained from telling Bryon to get a new one with all the money he was making from running two grocery stores—Bryon never did talk about why he wouldn't let go of it after ten years. Steve's hands, gentle and loving when it came to a car, kept it purring.

The radio hummed out verses of a Terry Reid song, and Steve tapped his left hand against the outside of the car to the beat. It was hot as hell, but they still hadn't installed an A/C, and they both smoked anyway. That's one of the reasons he didn't want to ride around with Soda. Soda didn't smoke and always bitched and moaned when Steve lit up in his new car, a fucking Mustang. Fucking Ford. And Soda, Soda always asked too many questions.

"Soda's always wants tofucking _talk_ about everything. Jesus." Steve dropped his can into the floorboard and lit a cigarette.

"What was that?" Bryon asked, turning a corner.

"Nothing. You need to come by the shop and lemme put in some better speakers! The volume doesn't go up loud enough without the base kicking."

Really, Soda was better than him with speakers. But fuck Soda.

"What happened last night, _buddy_? Why are you always missing work, _buddy_? What happened with Evie_, buddy_? Blah Blah Blah. If he cares so much about what I do to Evie, why doesn't _he _fuck her, huh? I'm sure he'd get tired of her fucking mouth, too. _Look_, Bryon, look over there, hey slow down."

Bryon pulled towards the edge of the road, still cruising, but going slow enough where they could get a good look at the girls walking down the road. They were bottle-blondes, and their skirts were a little short, but it was pretty hot outside. Pretty bad idea to be out walking in heels though.

"Cheryl, Diane, y'all need a ride? Huh? Looking fine tonight!" Steve stuck his head out the window, but the girls just ignored him. Bryon shook his head, they looked like they were still in high school. Bryon didn't say anything, just gently started to take off.

"Whores!" Steve screamed out the window, and threw the beer can between his legs at them. By the time they flipped Steve off, Bryon had already got the car down the block.

Old Bryon, Bryon was a wet blanket. Two-bit, two-bit would have made a joke or something. "Whores? Really? Pull over quick and get your wallet out Steve. And don't complain; a few bucks here and there, you save a bundle versus having a wife. Take it from me. And Sally doesn't give me head every time I buy her a dress." But Steve had got tired of two-bit's jokes, knowing the score but still laughing about it. "You don't have to worry about getting married, now, huh Steve? You sure _knocked_ that outta Evie." Jesus. Steve couldn't stand the lot of the guys anymore.

Steve slapped a mosquito on his neck. "Hey Bryon, you ever think about driving down by the house on Belmont. Maybe we might go ahead and score tonight? Get fucked up since we sure ain't scoring with the ladies tonight? See your old friend Mark? Ha!"

Close to thirty years old, Bryon thought, and still driving around looking for action, restless.


End file.
